


Unity

by fiendlikequeen



Series: Sherlock (TV) Dæmon!AU Series [2]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemon, Daemons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows why he loves Belisarius. Why he loves John, however, is a mystery to him. Perhaps Belisarius can help explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unity

Belisarius was the only being that Sherlock felt comfortable in loving. He’d reduced the affection he felt for his dæmon into sheer rationality, as he could deduce why he adored his panther-shaped Belisarius.

Though he had been reliably informed he did not have a heart, Sherlock knew he had a soul, and that that soul was Belisarius. And while he thought it was complete and utter foolishness to love one’s soul, he allowed himself to love his dæmon. He would have distanced himself from Belisarius, even have tried to sever the bond between them and rid himself of the ridiculous soul, but did not.

This was for the rational reason, he knew, that to be separated from one’s dæmon not only caused anguish but, more importantly, reduced the severed human into nothing more than a blinking idiot.

“Our mind is what makes us, Sherlock,” Belisarius had observed once, when curled at Sherlock’s feet, his dark head laid on the rug and his body keeping Sherlock’s toes warm.

“Without the bond, we would forefeit our rationality and the ability to think,” Sherlock replied, and reached down to stroke Belisarius’s head. His dæmon growled in assent, and began to purr.

And so he allowed himself to love Belisarius. He admired his dæmon, too, for his clever shape. A panther was an exceedingly useful dæmon to have; Belisarius’s form gave him keen sight, smell, and hearing, upon which Sherlock relied in making observation. Belisarius was stealthy, too, what with his quiet, heavy paws and his inky fur, and his formidable size made him a force that other dæmons thought twice before challenging.

Not only that, but as Belisarius had once alerted Sherlock to what his shape meant, not only giving Sherlock pause but also giving him another rational reason to love his dæmon.

“The form I settle in, Sherlock, is as important to me as it is to you. I am a reflection of your character and an extension of yourself,” Belisarius had observed, back when they were young and Belisarius could still change his shape.

So Sherlock allowed himself some self-centred pride in his dæmon’s shape.

Belisarius’s nimble paws, too, had caught Aisa, Mycroft’s raven dæmon, once or twice, which never failed to satisfy Sherlock. Sherlock got a certain pleasure out of seeing his older brother practically tearing out his hair with rage as Belisarius held fast the raven Aisa in needle-filled paws and forced Mycroft to submit to their will.

Therefore, Sherlock felt comfortable with loving his clever and admirable dæmon. It was rational. It made sense. It was logical. Practical.

Other forms of love both eluded and frustrated Sherlock. He loved his mother but thought it was preposterous to love someone based solely on a genetic relation. He shared a strange relationship with Mycroft that was mostly devoid of love due to old scores between the two, for Sherlock suspected that Mycroft had never forgiven him for the slurs he’d made against Aisa, yet still retained an infuriating twinge of affection for his brother.

He even loved John, later in his life, and that frustrated him even more than his love for Mummy or Mycroft. To love his mother and to love Mycroft was ridiculous, but at least she had raised him and done what was, in her narrow estimation, the right thing to do. On top of that, she was his mother, and he was biologically compelled to care for her. His affection for her made sense.

Sherlock’s affection for Mycroft, too, could be rationalized. Sherlock, despite loathing his brother’s use of it, could admire Mycroft’s wit and cunning, could even admire the form of his brother’s raven dæmon for what it meant.

But he did not know why he loved John. It made no sense that he would love this stranger from off the street, this average, middle-of-the-road, not-exceedingly-clever man whose talents were limited to inspiring genius in others and being rather good with a semiautomatic.

Not only that, but one look at the man’s dæmon told of an ordinary individual; female, in the shape of a dog, the very canine nature of her told of John’s own lack of creativity. Though she was a majestic dog, a massive English mastiff, she was a dog nonetheless and revealed John’s true nature: he was a follower, not a leader, destined to serve others and to assist them.

“I still don’t understand it,” Sherlock snarled, trying to focus on the slide he was examining under his microscope.

“Well, it would have to be a man, wouldn’t it?” said Belisarius one evening, putting down the book he was holding in his mouth on Sherlock’s lap, open to a page with diagrams of anatomy. He was trying to rationalize their affection for John and doing a much better job than Sherlock. “My gender dictates that. Not only that, but he, as ordinary as he is, is rather extraordinary in the fact that he is your greatest source of inspiration and Imoinda my clever assistant in observation. Therefore, it makes sense that it would be him instead of anyone else.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone,” snapped Sherlock, slamming the book shut and throwing it onto the table. “Least of all should it be an average man with a female dæmon.”

“But you don’t deny it, Sherlock,” said Belisarius, nudging Sherlock’s hand towards a certain book with a bump of his nose. “You do love John.”

“I don’t,” said Sherlock, petulant as a child.

Belisarius sighed and flicked his ears, keeping his yellow eyes fixed on the book on the table. “I can only tell you what I have observed, Sherlock, and deduce from that that you love John.”

Sherlock growled loudly and wordlessly, sounding like a panther himself.

His dæmon, however, simply sank down to his haunches and, curling his tail around his paws, stared up at Sherlock with unblinking eyes.

“For once, Sherlock, we must go against our thoughtful nature. We mustn’t try to understand our love for John. We must simply embrace it. It does do a lot of good for our work,” said Belisarius.

Sherlock paused in his work to look at his dæmon.

“Correct, as always,” he said. He patted the panther’s head before returning to work as Belisarius began to purr.


End file.
